


Wherever the Road Leads

by impish_nature



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Fury Falls, Gen, Mad Max AU, Warnings for blood and some violence, characters will appear as and when later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-12
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-07-23 15:43:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7469421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impish_nature/pseuds/impish_nature
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gravity Falls Mad Max AU (Fury Falls!) - Series of One Shots.<br/>Stan travels far and wide looking for his brother, will he ever find him? Or will he be too late?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stay With Me

**Author's Note:**

> AN: @yourlocalviking got me involved in their idea/we have spent far too much time (*cough* never enough) plotting everything out and shouting at each other whenever we came up with something particularly mean 8D and then we plunged the whole au into good old fashioned angst ♥ (Warnings for blood)

“Ford, I thought I told you about this.”

Ford sighed, glancing up as his brother’s shadow cast over him, the reproachful glare settling on his face getting his back up. The on-going argument between them was rearing its ugly head again, one that had caused more silent bitter nights than he could count over the last few months. He couldn’t help the sigh that escaped him even as Stan grew tense at the sound. This was getting too much. They’d been travelling alone together for years. As much as he loved his brother, something had to give. “And I thought I told you that you weren’t going to stop me?”

Stan growled, balling up the piece of already frayed paper into a mess in his hands, his teeth gritting in irritation. He turned his back on his brother, eyes travelling along the road they had just travelled to their makeshift camp, ever wary of being caught. No one could be trusted out here, which was the main reason for his frustration at his brother’s actions. “Look, Ford, I get it. You want to help people, but do you have to put your name on these bits of paper you keep giving out in every town we go to? Do you have to keep giving them out in general?”

“Stan, can’t you see how important this is?” Ford snatched the piece of paper being frayed further and further in Stan’s hands as he clenched and unclenched his fists. He flattened it back out, frowning at the damage. “With this simple machine people could filter the dirty water they have! And this is just the beginning! I have so many ideas-”

“I know. I know. You’re going to change the world, Ford, but what? Are you going to settle down in one of these no good cities? Help the people? The warlord will kill you!”

Ford growled, spinning back to him, finger pointing at his chest. “Just because you don’t believe in these inventions, doesn’t mean no one else would!”

“Don’t believ- Ford it’s nothing to do with that!”

“Then what? Why are you so against it?”

“You are going to get yourself killed.” Stan snapped, yanking the piece of paper back and tearing it in half with a dark growl that reverberated deep in his core, eyes sparking dangerously in the fire light. “Sooner or later someone is going to come after us because you’re inciting rebellion with these- these machines!”

Ford blinked, stepping back slightly as Stan raised his arms high, gesturing wildly as he spoke. The paper scattered to the winds as he let the scraps go. “Inciting rebellion? What? I’m just- I’m only helping people look after themselves.”

It was Stan’s turn to point at him, pushing his finger into Ford’s chest for emphasis as his voice went high with exasperation. “Exactly! That’s exactly what I’m talking about! You think the warlords _want_ people to be able to look after themselves? Why do you think I drag us from pillar to post? You think I like driving the road?”

“…Yes?”

“No! It’s to keep you safe!” Stan dropped his hand, his eyes shocked and hurt by Ford’s confusion. He rubbed the hand across his face, anything to keep him from doing something he’d regret, like lashing out and physically shaking his twin. “This world isn’t safe, Ford. It may not seem it but the road is the safest place. Safer than the towns and the cities at least. You can’t trust people, not anyone. But when it’s just us I know I have you to watch my back and I’ll always watch yours. In a city…well…I can’t keep watch over you. Can’t you see that?”

There was a beat of silence between them, a wall that seemed to be getting thicker and higher with every one of these arguments and yet neither of them could back down, neither could concede that the other had a point.

“We’ll find one, one day.” Ford’s words were a whisper, not really meant for Stan but they carried in the quiet night anyway, his shoulders slumping as he turned away.

“Find what?”

“A city that won’t have a warlord.” Ford puffed up at the snort he received in response, spinning back to his brother. He was glad that he at least stayed quiet after the sharp look he gave him. “You don’t believe there’s anywhere like that out there? Not _anywhere_? A place where people can survive without being subjected to- to someone like that?”

Stan stared at him for a moment longer, shaking his head slowly. He hated having to burst Ford’s bubble- hell, on most days Ford’s optimism that the world could be a better place gave him hope too. But sometimes hope got you killed and Stan couldn’t have that. He couldn’t lose Ford. “You’re living in a dream world, Ford. When you come back to reality, come talk to me. But for now, just…just think about it alright? You’re putting yourself in danger, and I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut.” Stan smiled awkwardly, waiting hopefully for the banter that would normally slip forth. The little ‘ _my mouth’s going to get us in trouble? Really, Stan?_ ’ but nothing came passed the stony silence. He kept his smile up, ever confident he could get a rise of some sort. “You just can’t keep that genius all to yourself, can you, nerd?”

“…I just want to help people.”

Stan’s smile fell, a slow sigh echoing endearingly from his lips as the fight left him. He clapped him on the shoulder. “I know and…I do hope you can one day, I really do. But my job first and foremost is to keep _you_ safe.”

“No it’s not. You’re my brother, not my bodyguard.”

“Feels like both most of the time.” Stan punched his shoulder jokingly, grinning brightly as Ford huffed a response, rubbing his shoulder in annoyance. “But say what you want. You can’t help people if you’re dead, Sixer.”

Ford knew he should concede, but he just couldn’t. _I have to make him see! I can make a difference!_ “But what if-”

“Shh.”

Ford blinked, anger bubbling to the surface once more as his eyes narrowed. “Did you just-”

“Sixer, be quiet.”

“Don’t tell me to be quiet!” Ford snapped, loud and echoing through the night before Stan clapped a hand over his mouth, stifling the noise. His anger vanished as Stan in one fluid movement kicked dust over the small campfire they’d built, cutting off the light. The fire in his blood turned ice cold as the rumble of an engine reverberated through the air to where they stood, completely still and silent. They both held their breath, the hand around Ford’s mouth tightening even as he tried to signal he understood.

The vehicle got louder and louder with every second, both of them tensing more with every passing heart beat as they waited for it to stop. For them to be caught and for everything to be over.

But then it was passing. They never saw it, just heard the rumble get fainter and fainter again.

Stan let out a shaky breath, pulling his hand away from Ford’s mouth. His words came out in a whisper as his eyes danced around Ford’ face, checking he was ok even though neither of them had been hurt. “That was close, too close. We need to get back on the road. We’ll find somewhere to rest tomorrow when it’s light-”

“S-Stan?” Ford hissed out as Stan’s eyebrows furrowed, his eyes locked behind Ford in the distance as his words cut off. His eyes widened a second later as he pushed Ford away from him.

“Get down!”

“Stan?!” Ford couldn’t help the sharp yelp as he stumbled away from his brother, tripping over his own feet with the jarring motion. He shook his head, annoyance sparking up at the action. “What on earth was that all about? The car passed us-” The words caught in his throat as Stan took a shaky step backwards, his hand coming up to his shoulder as his face went slack with shock- _or was that pain?_

“Stan?” Stan’s movements were sluggish as Ford watched, the world felt like it was moving slower than usual as Stan turned to face him, his hand moving oh so slowly away as he looked down to reveal the dark stain that was blossoming out from under it.

And then he fell.

“Stan!” Ford jumped forward as Stan’s knees buckled under him, his eyes heavy lidded and glazing over as he tried to focus on Ford and failed. “Hey! Hey, stay with me.” He started to put pressure on the wound, wincing at the whine he got in return and the soft hands that tried to push him away wearily. “Sorry, sorry- I need to stem the blood, bro, OK? Just stay with me and let me do this.” He pulled his hands away slightly, wincing at the torn flesh beneath. The wound wasn’t too close to any organs but it wasn’t good, not out here on their own. His mind spun a mile a minute as he looked towards the car, gauging what to do. “Stan, I’m going to have to move you. We’ll drive back to the nearest city and get help, everything will be fine-”

“Ford…”

“Shh.” Ford leant down as Stan continued to push at him, his breath wheezing as he spoke. “Shh, save your strength. What were you thinking…”

“Ford. _Run_.”

“…taking a bullet for…me…” The breath caught in his throat as his mind finally ticked over. How hadn’t he thought of that? He’d been too focused on Stan, too busy looking after his brother to actually contemplate that they were being attacked! _Blind! So blind!_ The world felt like it was suddenly speeding up around him again, like they’d been inside a bubble that was now popping as Stan’s eyes drifted closed. He could hear jeering chatter behind him, he knew he had to move, had to fight and keep them safe but he couldn’t bear to move his hands from Stan’s shoulder as he continued to try and stem the bleeding. “No. No no no, don’t you dare, knucklehead. You stay with me! Do you hear me?! _Stay with me_.”

He growled as he heard the men rifling through their small amount of belongings, heard them shouting out to one another what they had found. _Take what you want! Just leave us! Leave us here to heal!_ He wanted to scream, to yell and fight them but Stan needed him there, even if his hands were still pleadingly pushing himself away, growing weaker every second but still resounding with the same energy that usually ran through Stan’s veins.

_Ford. Run._

Ford bit his lip as he felt a presence stand close behind him. His skin crawled and his hairs stood on end as the man leant down, as he felt breath on the back of his neck. But he continued to stare at Stan, continued to press down on the wound and hope against hope that the man would see nothing of worth and leave them be.

“…Take the healthy one.”

The words didn’t register in Ford’s head even when they were spoken so closely to him. He didn’t register anything until there were hands around his arms, pulling him away from Stan and that’s when he snapped. When he saw his brother’s eyes flicker open in panic, arms outstretched feebly as he tried to get back up. _No, stay down! Don’t move! I need to help you this time! Please!_ When the man that had been stood behind him glanced down at his prone brother’s lethargic attempts with indifference and brought the heel of his shoe down on the wound. Stan gave out a choked off gurgle of a cry before he went limp, succumbing to the pain. That was when Ford fought. A scream ripped through his throat as he tore and gouged at his captors, trying to deny their attempts to drag him towards their vehicle, spitting and hissing in an attempt to get them to let him go.

“Stop him squirming!”

A sharp pain blossomed in his temple as one of them spun towards him, their eyes meeting for just a second before pain exploded behind Ford’s eyes and he saw stars as he fell backwards into their waiting arms.

A sharp tut above him barely made it passed the fog in his brain.

“The boss won’t like that. You shouldn’t have hit him so hard.”

It felt like the world was spinning as they dropped him unceremoniously into the back of the vehicle, his head lolled to the side, managing to catch his brother in his sights and keep him grounded, pulling him back from the brink of unconsciousness. “S-Stan…”

The view grew smaller and smaller as the vehicle drove off. Stan’s limp body shrinking into the darkness beside the car that had been their home for years. Ford tried to call out, tried to move but his body refused to cooperate with his panic-stricken mind. Tears streamed down his face, grief and anger and fear all rolled into one as helplessness washed over him, twisting nauseously through the pain pulsing in his skull.

_“I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you”_

“ _Stan_ …”

And then everything went blissfully black.

 

* * *

 

A man sat huddled over a large ornate desk, a bright glimmer of sunlight spilled across the papers strewn around him, highlighting the gleaming brilliant ideas he had surrounded himself with.

A bright white grin spread across his face as he stared at each one individually, giving each his undivided attention for a few moments before going on to the next.

A sharp resonating knock echoed through the small ornately decorated room before the door opened without waiting for a response. The grin dropped back into a look of feigned indifference. “Did you get him?” The man glanced up from his desk for only a brief moment before returning to his work, fingers delicately trailing the design in front of him.

“Yes, sir, do you want him brought here straight away?”

The man spun around from his work at the mere notion, eye vicious and mouth snarling as his inferior took a cautious and quivering step back. “No! Have you forgotten already? I told you to take him east of here. To the nearby slave quarters.”

“I-I thought you were joking, sir. You don’t own that area – y-yet, that it is sir, so you’d have to go and bid on him like everyone else. You might lose him to another bidder.”

He snorted, shaking his head as he turned back to his desk. “No, we’re going to go _rescue_ him. Leave him there for a bit, let him stew, they normally put them to work for a while first if they’re fit and able. When we come to save the day and release everyone there he’ll come to help us with open arms. You’ll see.”

“Oh! That’s ingenious, sir! Of course if it’s one of your ideas, it’s bound to succeed.”

“Of course. What about the other one?” The man shook off the ingratiating praise before the other got too engrossed in it. He could only deal with so much fearful flattery.

“The other one?”

“The twin.” A snap of irritation bubbled through his voice. Why could no one keep up with him? Well that would all change soon…

“Oh, we left him to die in the wastes. You didn’t have any need for him, did you?”

“No. From what I’ve heard he’s been keeping the smart one out of my reach for a while now. Good work, I wanted him out of the way.” He gestured for the man to leave him with a sweep of his hand, not even deigning to dismiss him properly. His eyes were instead locked again on the piece of paper in his hands, one small machine of many that littered his desk. Things that could keep his people in line all the more easier and bring others flocking to him.

There was a small stamp of feet, a flurry of movements that he caught just barely out of the corner of his eye. Uninterested in the display, he nodded along to the salute only out of duty.

“May the flames of your success purify the land, Empyrean Bill.”

The door slammed shut, plunging the room back into the madness, the obsession that had previously been swirling there before the interruption. Though now it was edged with something more. What once had been a hopeful idea was now a burning promise, a dream becoming reality right before his eye.

Bill’s finger trailed the signature in the corner of the sketch, a victorious grin twisting across his face once again.

“You’ll be mine soon, Stanford Pines. You’ll learn to love it here, I’ll let you do all the research you want, just you wait and see.”


	2. Reality's Evidence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @yourlocalviking has a companion piece on tumblr that I'll link asap ♥ (This au is so much fun, I’m still so happy you let me join in with your idea, friend!)  
> http://yourlocalviking.tumblr.com/post/148944123667/fury-falls-au-the-mad-max-au-returns-with-pain
> 
> Warnings for blood.

_“I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”_

_“…Take the healthy one.”_

_“Just because you don’t believe, doesn’t mean no one else would!”_

_“Stop him squirming!”_

_“Ford…”_

_“Stan!”_

_“Ford. Run.”_

_“Don’t you dare, knucklehead. You stay with me. Do you hear me?!”_

_“Get down!”_

Ford gasped awake, jolting upwards though his body refused to co-operate and he gave up, listing back against the back seat of the car. He winced at the bright light that assaulted him as soon as he opened his eyes and added to the powerful pump of the headache that pulsed throughout his skull. He kept them closed after one blink, groaning piteously at the circumstances he found himself in. _What on Earth did we do last night? Did I eat something poisonous? Or did I get sunstroke while we were exploring somewhere?_

He shook his head, nothing coming to mind, though that made the pain worse and his stomach roiled at the movement. He whimpered, a soft chuckle in the front seat relaxing and irritating him all at once. The memories of the dream were slipping past the pain now as it turned into a more manageable thud against the inside of his skull. He licked his lips, gulping at the weird swirl of images, a mix of arguments and strangers. Of blood and gunshots and heartfelt words said in amongst spitting anger. None of it quite made sense. He was sure he’d seen Stan get shot in his dream, right at the end, yet he’d already been covered in blood and panicking as if it had already happened? There were people around them, trying to drag them apart and yet for some reason they were still shouting at one another? Still fighting amongst themselves? He couldn’t make head nor tails of the dream but the still ever present snickering from the front of the car as the vehicle rumbled ever onwards and vibrated through his back let him relax and dissipate the images from his mind.

He’d never admit it to Stan, he wouldn’t even bring the dream up. Even if his twin would probably just tell him not to think about it and that he’d always be there to look after him.

No. Couldn’t have him worrying more than he already did.

Best to just come up with an irritated response to his laughter and break this spell.

Set the world straight, get everything back to normal.

“Hey, Meat sack’s waking up.”

“Guessed that from the laughter.”

“Yeah well, he seems to be having some trouble.”

“…How hard did you hit him again?”

“Not that hard! Honest! Wouldn’t have even knocked you out."

Ford’s eyes snapped open as the small familiar chuckling burst into unrecognisable guffaws and all out cackles from more than one source. The light blinded him for a second as he saw not the top of the car but the bright midday sky above him leaving him bleary and confused. His eyes sought out the nearest figure, shuffling back as he came face to face with an unfamiliar visage leering closely at him. It was in that moment that he realised why he had struggled and failed in his attempt to get up earlier, his feet and legs tightly bound though his hands had been left free.

Obviously they did not think he was a threat.

“Look whose back from the fire. They’re not ready for you yet it seems.”

“I- who-” Ford gulped, leaning back as the man leaned further forward, black teeth gleaming at him. His mind went into analytical mode, scouring the man for markings that would at least him know what was in store for him. Tattoos to a warlord, brands for a job, but nothing was visible, all covered over and leaving him utterly lost as to why he was there and how he had found himself with them in the first place.

“Are you sure you didn’t hit him too hard? Lost all sense.”

The man scowled, moving back from Ford. “S’not my fault he’s not made of stronger stuff. You’d think being stuck on the road would make him durable.”

Ford tried not to whimper as Stan popped into his thoughts. It was him that usually dealt with attackers, he hardly ever got into fights. Everyone was only trying to look after themselves, he didn’t feel right hurting people for that.

Unless they hurt Stan, then they deserved everything coming to them.

_Where is he? Where’s Stan?_

Ford’s eyebrows scrunched up,

“Meat sack doesn’t sound right, we’re keeping him for a while, aren’t we?” The man closest to him glanced around him, face gleeful in a way that made Ford sick. When he got an affirmative response his eyes lit up, spinning back to Ford. “Then from now on you’re Weird Fingers!”

“Why? He got less than normal? Lost a few in the wastes?”

“No! He got more!”

The man driving glanced back at them, the other peeking his head around as Ford tried and failed to hide his hands, the man sitting with him tugging his hands up for them to see and counting off his fingers as he went.

The one in the passenger seat hummed before turning to the driver, eyes hard and snapping. “Eyes on the road, moron. You can look later.”

“Isn’t it time for a pit stop?”

“Oh what? Cause he’s awake? Guess so.”

The truck stopped, Ford sliding in the bed before the ropes tying him yanked him back. He put his hands out quickly to stop himself from cracking his head, though the world swayed as he tried to prop himself up.

“Here Weird Fingers, gotta keep your strength up.”

“I don’t- why-” Ford stuttered the words passed cracked lips as a bowl of water was pressed into his hands, the man moving to sit cross legged in front of him as if they were travellers who had met amiably on the road.

“We’ve got work to do, lots of work for you, Weird Fingers. There’s the quarry and the factory, not to mention the entertainment! We’ll find you a place, don’t you worry. And if all else fails then we’ll find you a nice new home at the slave market.”

Ford swayed where he sat, the words washing over him in waves until the man tapped him on the cheek in an almost affectionate manner. His eyes latched on to him, lashing out with the hand not holding the water, somewhere deep down knowing that he needed it if he was going to get through this.

“Ow! He hit me!”

“I told you he had claws.” A bored voice from the front spoke up at the whine of the petulant man sulking in front of him, rubbing his face disappointedly.

Ford ignored them all, scooting back as far as he could to sip at the water and try to understand what exactly had happened.

_They must have caught us unaware. It’s fine. Stan will find me, he always does. He always has a plan.  
…But why isn’t he here with me?_

“Well at least he didn’t break skin like with you.”

Ford continued to let his thoughts overtake, straining against the fog in his head and the presence of the dream that made little sense, to try and find the truth of last night. _Did they drug us? No, that one said I was hit round the head, that’s all. I need to get away from them- but how will Stan find me? I’d die of dehydration wandering the road long before a car came through._

A hiss of annoyance and another echoing breakout of laughter brought him back to the present as he eyed the men suspiciously. The one in the front seemed to now be sulking and glaring at him, rubbing scratch marks that ran down his face. He gave a vicious grin, grim satisfaction at having hurt one of them giving him a spurt of confidence even if he knew it was better to hang his head and stay quiet. _Good. Good, you deserve that. There’ll be worse later, once Stan’s here and I can fight without fearing he won’t catch up._

“You know. I wish we didn’t have to take him to the slave market.”

“Oi-”

Ford watched a small unspoken argument travel between the two as the driver continued to ignore them, wondering what exactly was going on now.

“I just meant right now if he wasn’t all tied up he’d look like one of us! If he kept that smirk on his face and lost the kicked animal look he’d do well, ‘specially covered in all that blood.”

The world narrowed to a pinprick as Ford glanced down. Everything felt cold even as the sun beat heavily against him, a fuzz taking over his ears as his vision tunnelled into his hands.

“We should keep Weird Fingers! He’d make a good addition to the group.”

“The sun’s killed your brain cells. He’d be dead in five minutes. Also we don’t want him.”

“Aww, come on! We could train him!”

Ford stopped listening, his own breaths suddenly too loud to hear over, as his hands shook. They were brownish red, dry and cracking with what had once been viscous liquid, almost up to his elbows. It flaked as he moved his hands, a small semblance of peace taking over him as his mind blanked out.

And then the memories hit him.

_Not just a dream._

The memories aligned suddenly, a spin of movement and shouting as everything fell into place.

_The argument, yelling, Stan stopping me from moving, Stan falling, Stan was shot! STAN WAS SHOT._

He heaved, hands clamping over his mouth as the water threatened to come back up again. He could feel it, feel himself pushing against the wound, trying to stem the blood that was filtering through his fingers faster than he could stop it, it was almost like he could feel the steady pulse warm and thick against his hands as it started to slow though he would not let up. There were phantom hands pressing into his forearms, trying to get him to move but he refused.

He heaved again, hands quickly leaving his mouth to shake in front of him, his mouth a thin line of disgust.

_Stan’s blood- it’s all over me- I can’t, I need it gone. It’s on me, it’s on me, it’s on me!_

“I don’t think he agrees with you.”

The man glanced over as Ford used what remained of his water to drench his hands. A small huff sounded, one that Ford found easy to snub in the circumstances. “Fine. Be that way. Didn’t really want to keep you around anyway.”

Ford let the words bounce off him, still focused on his hands as the dried mess became wet again, sticking to him and dripping down to the bed below. He let out a small noise of panic, wanting to wash it all away, wipe away the images along with the blood but it was just becoming a bigger and bigger mess. It felt like it was spreading, soon he’d be covered in it. _You caused this, this was your fault. His blood is on your hands in more ways than one._ He glanced around for something, anything to use to get it off of him. He tore off his scarf, debating on if he needed it when he used it as a dust mask against the sand but the most pressing thing going through him was to get the blood off. He ground the fabric into his arms, leaving them red raw under the blood in his attempts to get all of it off him. Get it off before it sunk into him and left his very soul blood soaked with the last remnants of his brother.

He gave a sigh of relief when the air bit into his arms, the burn of fabric all that remained to make him feel clean again, or as clean as he could be in that moment. He looked down at the scarf, the entire side he could see covered in the blood, his hands clenching and unclenching into it as his mind warred with itself.

_Throw it! Throw it away!  
…But is this it? Is this all I have of him?_

The scarf shook and blurred in his vision as tears sprang up at the sudden horrible sickening thought. He could see Stan limp and prone on the sand of his mind, blood pooling under his shoulder as he was left alone in the wastes. Unconscious and bleeding, without Ford to look after him.

_Is there any way? Could he have survived that?_

His mind refused to answer the question. Not definitively anyway. Even as he told himself that the wound was extensive, that the bullet had torn all the way through and left a gaping hole in his shoulder. Even as he remembered just how much blood Shan had lost before he had been dragged away.

He couldn’t think the actual words, couldn’t muster up the courage to think _he’s dead, he’s not coming to find me._

_“You are going to get yourself killed.”_

Ford choked at the memory, arms hugging the scarf to him as he shook bodily. Stan had told him so many times what could happen. That they had to stick together and trust each other because there was no one else to trust. But he’d stopped, he’d stopped trusting Stan. Not completely, but he’d drifted away from him, realised they had different ideals about the world and it had left them open. No longer working like a cohesive unit like they used to.

_If I had just listened-_

He shook his head, there was no use thinking that now. It wasn’t himself he had gotten killed. It didn’t matter if it had been a fluke attack, didn’t matter if it hadn’t been planned – they’d been arguing, he’d been shouting when Stan told him to be quiet, he’d brought attention to them.

_All my fault, I’m to blame._

What did he do now? Stan would always come and help him if he got into trouble. He hated the cities, tried to keep an eye on him at all times but sometimes it didn’t work and even then he always found him. Always appeared in the nick of time to keep him from harm and make sure they both got out of trouble. Not that it was only him that got into trouble but it was always Stan, always Stan who got them out of it again.

A wave of helplessness took over him as he brought the scarf out in front of him again. He couldn’t even think about keeping it but at the same time throwing it away when he had nothing left felt _wrong_. A morbid sense of keeping his brother with him as he drowned in this new insanity that seemed to be flooding over him. Guilt and fear and the grief of losing his twin threatening to suffocate him and leave him a blank shell of his former self.

_I can’t throw him away, I can’t drop the last piece of him off the face of the planet. I need him, I need Stan. This is him, all that’s left._

Something solid hit against his side as he moved, drawing his attention away from the fabric. He fiddled around in his pocket, the familiar feel and weight of his journal bringing a soothing calm to his swirling thoughts as he tugged it out. He just needed a distraction, a theory or a calibration to keep his mind off of everything. His other hand kept a tight hold on the scarf, both centring him.

Until the book slid open on a random page and the breath left him in a soft hiss.

That wasn’t his writing.

He’d forgotten. A small blossom of hope pooled in his heart as his fingers traced the wobbling and shaky letters. Stan’s writing, from years and years of hard work as Ford taught him day by day, year by year. He’d never seen the point when they were growing up, only Ford had kept up the ritual of learning and putting his thoughts down from the elder who still knew the way. Their parents thought it was a waste but soon he convinced Stan at least of the pros of learning. A way to communicate that many might not be able to fully comprehend. At least that had been the idea then. It became apparent when they had had to run and had fumbled their way around the first few cities and towns that many did know how to read and write and it became necessary for Stan to at least know the basics with reading in case they were ever split up. But Ford had done more than that, had kept at it and made sure he practised whenever he remembered.

And now he had the words, proof that his brother had existed, stuttering across the page hesitantly. The one area Stan hadn’t been able to fake confidence in, knowing he was lacking but Ford had been so proud of him for every step he had taken.

He flicked through page after page, his own organised notes and small words from Stan. Quips at his work, grumbles at being made to write at all, anything and everything that had come to mind that day when Ford had thrown the book at him. A pattern of fleeting thoughts and pure Stan mannerisms that made him choke with the memories.

He turned another page and froze again, bombarded by more, tears streaming down his face.

His brother grinning and driving stared back at him. A sketch he had had to do, one of those moments where the pen had started moving before he’d fully grasped what was going on. He’d had to draw it, his brother usually so tightly wound and glaring, eyes suspicious of everyone they came across was a different person when it was just them. He could see that day vividly now, a day of tense silences and deals, of figuring out how to get what they needed without losing what little they had. The day had ended well, the deals were done and Ford had been practically grinning as they left the building but Stan stayed stoic, stayed ever wary and watchful until they left the city walls and found themselves in the car. He didn’t lose the tenseness to his shoulders until the city left the mirrors and then he had beamed, a whoop of a laugh escaping him as he showed Ford just how well they’d done in that deal. Ford hadn’t been able to resist drawing the change. Drawing the Stan he knew that no one else got to see. The small excitable boy, driving his car as the sunlight gleamed, ready for an adventure with his brother at his side.

He knew why it was only him that got to see that side of him now. Knew exactly what he had meant when he said the road was safer and that he felt at peace when it was just the two of them driving instead of stuck in the thick of the cities.

Ford had always been optimistic, always tried to see the best in people. Stan had always stuck to seeing the worst and being proved wrong, you couldn’t be disappointed then. He understood that now, surrounded by people who wished to harm him, he couldn’t hope in this moment. Couldn’t keep himself afloat with positive outcomes.

He glanced back down at the smiling face.

The scarf fluttered away in the wind as it slipped through his fingers, both hands tightening around the book as his thoughts turned to happier times.

_You’re safe, right here in my arms. I won’t forget, won’t forget you as you were.  
I won’t lose you ever again._

 

* * *

 

Everything _hurt_.

His shoulder felt like someone had carved into it, a burning heat melting through him and gluing him to the floor as if his muscles had decided they wanted to be liquid instead of solid. His arm refused to budge, though most of the rest of him felt the same as he groaned piteously and tried his best to sit up.

He could feel himself drifting in and out of consciousness, a deep cold shudder ripping through him as he lay in the dark. The night sky above him turned the desert cold and the burning wet heat in his shoulder started to burn like ice instead. He whimpered at the change, feebly trying to curl up around the pain and keep himself from burning out.

_S-Stay awake. Gotta…gotta stay awake…why have I got to stay awake?_

He shuddered again, becoming aware of the liquid drenching the sand around him, making it even harder to move as it caught between his fingers. He was sure the liquid was coming from him but he couldn’t comprehend what was happening through the pain blanketing his senses. It felt like he was melting, becoming one with the sand beneath him and as he did so the pain slowly, ever so slowly left him, leaving him hollow and tired.

_Maybe…maybe it’s OK to rest, just for a little bit…what’s the harm?_

The struggle to open his eyes seemed even more fruitless now as he gave in to the voice, the one that whispered calming thoughts and told him everything was OK and it would be better once he got some rest. He just needed to sleep, then everything would be fine, he’d wake up and this would all be a bad dream…

A noise around him stopped his progression into the darkness, small shuffling footsteps and hissed whispers catching what remained of his senses.

_Is that Ford?_

The words slipped through his mind and suddenly it was a lot more pressing to open his eyes. _That’s right! Ford, gotta look after Ford!_ The words circled in his head, a mantra and a plea all in one to let him get up and protect his nerd brother from whatever trouble they’d gotten themselves into this time.

His eyes flickered, the motion taking enough strength to leave him sapped of what little energy he had.

But it was enough, a flame above him making him squint at the silhouetted figure holding it, bathed in shadows that his fuzzy vision couldn’t see passed.

“F-Ford…?”

“Shh, it’s OK. We’ve got you, you don’t have to worry about a thing.”

The words were soothing, familiar and warm as Stan smiled gratefully and slipped into slumber. The darkness seeped in unhindered, relieved and content to let the figure look after him instead of fighting any longer.

“Glad you’re OK, Ford…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was good fun and a definite ‘hey you know what would make this moment 10 times worse’ point. XD


	3. Trust No One But Stay Safe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To go with @yourlocalviking artwork (http://yourlocalviking.tumblr.com/post/147307041632/fury-falls-au-so-i-realized-ive-been-pretty-vague) ♥ We had some fun with this bit 8D Well it’s all fun. This AU is painful and fun.

It had been months since the fateful night when everything fell apart.

But for Ford it could have been eternity or a day, time slipping and sliding out of his grasp like the sands they constantly drove through.

The only way he had any knowledge of how much time had actually passed was using the journal and the stub of a pencil he had found, worn down and broken that he’d felt at the bottom of a pocket. Every night as the sun set and he was left to his own devices he would add another line to the tally at the back of the book before flicking back to Stan’s picture.

It was the only way he could keep track, the only thing he could muster up to do amongst the work they put him to and falling into terrible warped dreams. Dreams full of blood and screams, or worst of all his brother’s voice echoing through his restless sleep; laughing, angry, sarcastic and everything in between.

Worst because although he loved it, the nights when his mind gave him reprieve and let him dream of fond moments, of chats around a campfire and warm relaxed drives, it would always leave him worse for wear when he woke up and just for a split second forgot what had transpired.

No. No, it was better to do whatever work they put him to. To throw himself into whatever it was with reckless abandon.

At least then he could sleep without dreaming, mind and body too tired to weaken him further.

Ford slid the pencil down the page for another time, counting up the marks as his mind wandered.

_Nine months…Nine months since…is this my life from now on? Is this it?_

Ford bit his lip, a new wave of anguish threatening to engulf him. It didn’t feel like 9 months, it felt like a day, a week if that, had passed, that his grief was still ever present and cutting. His world had spun upside down and it still had not righted itself. He couldn’t let go, couldn’t accept his fate and move on. It was still too soon, too much, not enough. _I need you. I need you, Stan. Here, now._ And yet other times it felt like Stan was slipping away from him with every passing day. That it had been so long that he was already forgetting his voice, forgetting his antics and roundabout care with words full of annoyance that masked the raw concern beneath them.

_So much for helping people. So much for ‘you can’t help anyone if you’re dead.’_

He shook his head at the thought, glancing at his captors, already falling asleep and yet again forgetting to tie him up. He knew as well as they did he wouldn’t make it far. Out in the middle of the deserts without a vehicle. They’d catch him by morning if someone else didn’t first. Stan’s words rang through his head whenever he even dreamt about escaping, about fighting his captors tooth and nail and either winning his freedom or losing his life. Every time he dared broach the thought his mind retaliated, the legacy of his brother ringing through his ears and making him step back.

_“My job first and foremost is to keep_ **you** _safe…say what you want. You can’t help people if you’re dead, Sixer.”_

And part of it wasn’t even for him anymore. Part of him understood every word Stan had said, part of him knew he’d never make a difference now. He’d flown too close to the sun and now he was lost, burned and charred and missing a part so vital he wasn’t entirely sure how he kept dragging himself forward time and again. The guilt ate at him, he fully accepted his fate on days, or more specifically nights when it engulfed him. Those were the nights when his mind would war with itself on whether he deserved all this or if something more sinister was the answer. That’s when Stan shouted at him, loud and clear and sharp as if he was back there with him again. That’s when he jolted himself away from those thoughts and even if his own life mattered little at this point he’d remember what it meant to _Stan_.

Stan had saved him. Stan had pushed him out of the way, unafraid of what that meant for himself. And Ford hated that, hated that Stan had put his life above his own but could he do it? Could he make Stan’s sacrifice be in vain? Slip away into the night in the hopes of joining his brother once more?

Stan would be disappointed in him.

Stan would want him to live.

_“…I just want to help people.”_

_“I know and…I do hope you can one day, I really do.”_

Stan believed in him, he always had. Ford knew Stan wouldn’t blame him, whatever action he chose, not deep down. But could he forgive himself? Could he do it knowing that Stan had given so much to keep him alive?

As soon as he thought about it he knew he couldn’t. Not just for him, but for Stan’s memory. If he died no one would ever know. No one would know about the brave man who had protected him for years, the brother that had stayed by his side through thick and thin in a world where survival of the fittest reigned and blood relations meant nothing in the long run.

If he died, what was left of Stan would die too.

He couldn’t have that.

So he lived.

He stayed wary and watchful, ever vigilant, ever careful. He kept his eyes peeled in case something were to happen to his captors, ways to escape and how to keep himself alive. He stayed quiet, never made a noise of dissent, bowed his head and let them sneer and jeer. Anything to keep himself alive, to keep himself safe. He catalogued everything about them, just in case one day they turned on him, no longer needed him. He would not be fooled. He would not be lulled into a false sense of security that if he did as he was told then that would keep him safe, he had to be ready for every possible outcome.

And at the same time they gave him weapons, ammunition with which to aid him.

They didn’t know it at the time, using him for their own gain that it never crossed their minds. But they fed him, gave him water, kept him healthy because they needed him. When they passed towns and cities and needed food or fuel for the next leg of the journey they set him to work, gave him to people to use in manual labour. It made his skin tougher, out in the baking sun without the shield of a car. It let him rest, conking out into dreamless sleep where the nightmares couldn’t reach him and drain what remained of his sanity. It gave him more muscle, no longer sat researching and designing but working and struggling out in the heat in quarries or building until he collapsed at the end of the day. It took its toll, kept him pliant and weak when they drove from place to place but he could feel its effects in the long run, feel the muscles pull and tighten in the same way they had when Stan had tried to teach him self-defence in case he wasn’t there to help. He couldn’t practise without seeming suspicious but he remembered the motions, the tactics he had taught him and knew that with the added weight behind him he might actually be able to pull some of the techniques off.

Stan would be proud of him.

_“While we’re in there, don’t trust a word anyone says but don’t go looking for trouble, you understand?”_

_“This coming from you, Mr Black eye?”_

_“I didn’t go looking for trouble, trouble went looking for you. I disposed of it.”_

_“…That’s not actually all that comforting, Stan.”_

_“It’s not meant to be comforting. I need you to understand. We can’t trust anyone, not ever, you just have to pretend you do and keep an eye out for anything suspicious. Otherwise we’ll have more than just a black eye on our hands and I want to avoid that as much as possible.”_

_“R-Right.”_

_“…Besides, if I go looking for trouble there’s less chance it’ll come after you.”_

And all that training, all that careful planning and following in Stan’s age old advice that he’d always rolled his eyes at and ignored, showed when he started to notice the signs.

A storm was brewing, something new awaited him.

He could feel it in their stares, feel it in the short whispers and quickly moved gazes when he looked up. He could tell from the jitter in the talkative ones movements, in the way his chatter got more coded, full of jokes that made him chuckle and left Ford lost to their exact meaning. He could hear it in the bite of the stoic one, in the snap of the sarcastic one as they told him to be quiet, told him to stop talking to the ‘meat sack’.

He knew they were planning something.

“Not long now.” The talkative one would mutter, eyes gleeful and bright as they turned to Ford.

“Not long now?”

“Not long until we’re at the next town, that’s all.”

“Yeah…just that. Not long, I like that place. It’s full of people.”

“So is every other place.”

“Yeah but not like _this one_ is.”

Which led him to now, knowing that they were getting closer and closer so he started to plan.

He didn’t know what it was that made him do it, made him think that things might get a bit hairy and to protect the small amount of things he held dear but he did it anyway.

As much as it pained him, he waited until the three of them were out cold for the night, waited until he was sure they were asleep and the fire was dying.

Then the sound of hasty scratchings and tearing paper filled the air.

 

* * *

 

“You ready, Weird Fingers?”

Ford blinked awake as a shadow crossed over him, a sharp white toothed grin filling his vision. “Ready? Ready for what?”

“It’s time we say goodbye.”

Fear flooded ice cold through Ford’s veins as he sat himself up, tense and ready. Here it was, the moment he’d been dreading.

They no longer had a use for him, he’d fulfilled his purpose.

“Goodbye?”

“Yeah.” The man squatted in front of him, making him lean back ever so slightly. His face was a mask of disappointment that Ford couldn’t muster up a response to in the circumstances. “You know, I do like you, I mean I’d love to keep you around, but the other two still keep saying no.” He sighed, shaking his head as if very put out, Ford couldn’t follow the movement, still dreading the worst as he sat here toying with him. “So instead! Instead you’ll be someone else’s friend!”

“Someone else’s…?”

“Wow, you really aren’t keeping up today, are you, Weird Fingers?” The man ruffled Ford’s hair, a spark of disgust running through him at the motion but he stayed still, scared to break whatever was happening and gain himself a worse fate. “We’re here! We’re at the Slave Market. You’re going to get a lovely new person to look after you and we’ll get paid for the trouble!” He leaned forward again, clamping a hand down on Ford’s shoulder to keep him close this time. “Win-win isn’t it?”

“Win-win, yes, of course.” Ford gulped, trying to smile through the nausea bubbling up through him. The man beamed back, not perturbed by his response in the slightest, not knowing the war raging in Ford’s head.

There were only two other times that the twins had been privy to a Slave Market, and both times they had never wished to experience again.

Once, once they had accidentally stumbled across one. Low on food and fuel they’d popped into the nearest town to stock up.

They didn’t stay long, both agreeing that spending money in a place like that condoned it all.

_But the first time_. Ford tried not to shake at the force of the memory. A lifetime ago, a small village ransacked, smoke billowing and people screaming. An entire village taken, those who fought killed and those who didn’t herded to their fates.

They had escaped both fates.

He didn’t know if anyone else had even now.

Ford bit his lip as the memories combined with the present, another stab to his heart. Ford had wanted to get involved when they’d found that town. Had wanted to try and free people but Stan had dragged him away, fearful they would be next on the auction block and refusing to be separated.

Now it seemed his fears had come true, Ford wondered whether they would have made a difference back then or just hastened this situation.

“There is one more thing we need to do though.”

“Hmm?” Ford couldn’t even formulate words, head still stuck in bygone memories.

“Well for starters-”

Ford blinked as his view was suddenly impeded, he reached forward blindly, unable to resist before one of the others caught his hands behind him. He cursed inwardly, unknowingly letting his guard down from behind until it was too late.

“Sorry, Weird Fingers but you’re not allowed these.” The man waved Fords glasses into his now blurred vision. “No weapons allowed and what with the glass and all, you’d get these taken from you when we got there. Best we get a use out of them, right?” The man hummed thoughtfully. “Actually you know what? Everything you own is ours so-”

Ford hissed as hands were suddenly on him, pulling and tugging through his pockets. _No, no, no._ “No, wait, please- there’s nothing. You know I have nothing-”

“That book of yours seems mighty important, I’m sure we’ll find a use for it.”

Ford’s breathing hitched. _How can they take that? It’s all I have, no-_ But there was nothing he could do, he could feel it billowing up, the urge to fight and their responding urge to have some fun with him before they left him to his fate.

_Trust no one. Stay safe, Ford._

Ford bit down on the rage thrumming through him, the fear of losing the last remnants of his brother and instead let himself list forward. Gave up the fight entirely and let them rummage. Stan wouldn’t want him dead over a journal, he could write the words anew. _I can’t write Stan’s words though-_ He closed his eyes tight, willing the voice away. _Stan would want you alive, Stan would want you alive-_

“That’s good, Weird Fingers, exactly what I wanted to see.” He felt his hair get ruffled again, let it happen without argument.

“You need to do as you’re told from now on. No one likes a pet that bites.”

 

* * *

 

_Is this it?_

Ford sat in a small block, trying not to heave at the smell that surrounded him. Tried not to focus on the gouge marks in the wood he rested against from panicked people who had since met the same fate he assumed awaited him. It was becoming easier with every day that he stayed here but it was never enough to stop the nausea swirling at his fate.

All he could be thankful for was the front was open and empty. He had been chained to the wall, he could go only a meter in any direction and so the area in front could be left without bars, letting the would-be buyers glance over the ‘wares’ unimpeded. He shuddered whenever someone stopped to look at him, a piece of meat, a curiosity on a shop stall for them to regard with interest. But the opening gave him welcome light, welcome fresh air as he sat peacefully and patiently. He didn’t want to, the mask fragile and brittle, he wanted to figure out how to break the lock and escape. But there was no way of knowing when a person would or wouldn’t be coming past and so he waited, still and silent and hoped that no one would want to buy the man with the defect. Ignored the voice that told him to hide his hands and that they might make people more interested in him instead of the opposite.

He hated viewing days. These were the days he was not to move, to sit and let the eyes trace over him without shuddering. These days always let his mind wander, never letting up the swirl of terrifying thoughts. _Tomorrows the day, someone will show an interest and up you’ll go on to the block._ There was no work on these days, nothing backbreaking to make him crash out, to numb his mind and body.

The wait, the unknown was killing him. He could feel a tremor buzzing through his shoulders as he tried to quell it. Every scream or wail of anguish from another such stall added to the shake as he gripped his knee tightly to dispel the feeling. It was becoming too much and the fact that he wasn’t in the dark, hidden away, added to the bubbling feeling that he needed his one piece of solace that he had tried so hard to hide away all this time.

He glanced up slowly, eyes panning to either side as he listened. When he was sure that no one was coming near he slipped his hand into his shirt, into a small hidden pocket that the men hadn’t known about and pulled out a single solitary piece of paper.

He unfolded it slowly, a pang of guilt at the creases in it and the tear along the side but it was enough that he still had it. He knew that the book, being seen as so precious to him, could be used as leverage at any time, so he’d taken the most important page out in preparation.

He stared down at his brother’s grin, the bubbling laugh he could almost hear through the page and felt himself calm.

_Whatever happens, you’ve still got him. You kept him safe._

He blinked in surprise as he felt something wet drip onto his hand, reaching up to find the tears that had bubbled forth. He tried to scrub them away, tried to force the feelings back down but something had snapped. Everything bottled up for months on end, all those crushed little bubbles of pain, the aching pangs of loneliness slipping down his cheeks without respite.

The anguish around him from the other prisoners seemed to grow in a swell with his own emotions, rushing up like a tide to greet him. But he blanked them out, ignored them until they were a faint tinny whistle in his ears.

He took a deep breath, a shaky little hiss of a noise as his hands trembled and the page went in and out of focus. He held it closer to his face, to see the pencil lines through the blur of tears, tried to shake the feeling and clamp back down on what mattered to him now.

His eyes found the small sentence he had added to the page, his tears slowing as he felt himself harden.

_Trust No one._

“No one can be trusted. Don’t show weakness, trust no one.” Ford hissed, a mantra under his breath as he rubbed at his eyes again. “No one can be trusted. Don’t show weakness, trust no-”

“Leave the slaves!”

“Huh?” Ford heard the words through a filter, his view of the world still narrowed on to the picture, his comfort that had yet to be taken from him. But reality made its way through like thick tar, a seeping thought as the words whispered on. He glanced up and over, watching as a blur of car screeched away, the owners shouting and screaming in tandem. He frowned at all the noise, registering the panic stricken and pained voices for the slave drivers that had kept them in line, but he couldn’t feel concern for them, whatever they were going through was nothing to what they put many through on a constant basis.

He slowly turned, unimpressed by the turn of events, his mind no longer really processing that perhaps this was his chance to escape, too long marred deep in despair. Too long with the heat of the sun bearing down on him with little water whilst he sat chained to the wall, day after day, night after night. He’d lost track of time without the journal to help him, only knowing that this was his life now and he had no use to remember how long he had been here.

Before he had a chance to look down again a shadow draped across him. He swayed slightly as he quickly looked up, face blank of fear or suspicion. The world span with the movement as a figure formed blurrily above him but he had no idea who they were.

“You’re safe now.”

Ford blinked owlishly, dazed as he squinted slightly. The voice was muffled, distorted oddly and he had no idea why, but all he could see was a dark silhouette with a weird yellow and blue distortion. It took him a long moment to realise that the blue haze was closer to him than the rest of the image and he suddenly noted that whoever the figure was, was holding their hand out to him.

“Are you hurt? Injured?” The figure seemed bemused by his silence before something dawned on them. “Oh wait, are these yours perhaps?”

Ford blinked as the person moved their hand away, fiddling with their outfit before putting it much closer now, close enough that Ford could see his glasses sticking out from gloves that glowed a bright blue when the sunlight hit them. He let his hand fumble forward, hesitant and waiting for the mirage to be ripped away from him along with the temptation of vision but instead soon enough he felt cool metal beneath his fingers and let the air out of his lungs in a small gasp. He quickly slipped them on before they could be cruelly taken away again.

It hurt for a second, after what felt like an age without sight for everything to come into sudden sharp focus, especially when his eyes locked on to the man before him and he felt a shudder rip through him.

_Warlord._

Everything was sharp lines and blinding contrast. An outfit of shadowed greys and blacks, mixed with glowing yellow eyes and beetle blue gloves. His mouth was covered by a mask, one eye made big and wide in the same manner and he suddenly knew why his voice had been so distorted.

“I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Ford twitched at the voice, not realising his head was back against the wood behind him until the man spoke again. “S-sorry.” He coughed, wincing at his own croak of a voice. “And thank you.” The words came out just like before, _stay safe, stay grateful, keep them on side,_ but an insidious voice, the other side that kept him protected slipped passed. A little note of suspicion to keep him from being gullible and twisted by lies.

“No need. But I sense you aren’t quite happy to see me yet.” The words came out amused, as if the man was proud of his defiance. “Very wise. You shouldn’t trust anyone. You have no idea what they’re thinking.”

Ford stared at him for a few more moments before the words spilled out. “How did you find my glasses?”

“Oh. Of course, that must seem suspicious. There were three guys crowing about their…wares going up for auction. I heard one of them call you-” Ford watched the man’s eyes flit down to his hands and he found himself covering them quickly. _Weird Fingers._ “Anyway, a nickname that I won’t repeat. I thought they might be yours when I saw- after that.”

“Where are they-”

“They’re dead. My Warboys killed them.”

“Good.” The word came out a harsh blunt force on the end of his tongue.

“You won’t have to worry about them anymore. I know you don’t trust me but I’m gathering up the slaves- no, the free people that want to come with us. I offer safe haven to all, I’m sorry that this place existed at all…You are welcome to join us.”

Ford saw the hand extend towards him again, his eyes slipping down to the page in his hands once more before he folded it back up and slipped it into his pocket. He eyed the hand warily, all too ready for this to be a lure, one that would put him in a worse position. Right now, with no one beside him and a lifetime of unknowns ahead of him, he knew that he might not trust anyone again.

But taking any opportunity given to him was better than being left here with nothing.

He had nothing to lose.

He stretched out his hand, grabbing on to the man’s in front of him and letting him pull him up, let the man put him at an equal footing instead of staring imposingly above him.

He couldn’t see much of the man’s face, but the eye that he could see seemed to brighten, a twist to it that implied a smile beneath the mask.

“Excellent! Now let’s get those chains off you, friend. You’re a free man now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't trust him Ford! ;.;
> 
> If anyone wants to join me! I'm going to try and raise some money for charity in a writing day this Sunday ^^ it'll be on  
> agoodwritingday.tumblr.com!   
> Feel free to send me prompts over on tumblr (no journal spoilers please)

**Author's Note:**

> AN: dun dun duuuuuun~ I had a lot of fun writing this and then throwing it at Viking XD I hope everyone enjoyed it as much as me sitting vibrating while they read did ♥


End file.
